


Morning Revelations

by heeroluva



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Reichenbach Falls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-16
Updated: 2012-04-16
Packaged: 2017-11-03 18:24:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/pseuds/heeroluva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their bed was too big without Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Revelations

Sherlock hadn’t joined John and Lestrade in bed often. The first time, they’d both jolted awake as Sherlock had sprawled across both of them, dead to the world. Lestrade had been worried until John told him that was just how Sherlock was. The rare instances that the man actually slept, Sherlock really crashed. Sherlock made excuses of course, arguing that they were warm and John’s bed had been closer to his own. Convenient as it was. The second time, they’d grumbled, and the third time they hadn’t even noticed until morning. Maybe it was strange, but that was the definition of Sherlock. 

Now that Sherlock was gone, the bed seemed too big even though it barely fit two comfortably. They hadn’t been in a threeway, not really. Sherlock didn’t swing that way, didn’t swing at all really. But he’d still been a part of them, John’s best friend, Lestrade’s “pet project” according to those he worked with, though Lestrade preferred to say friend.

Lestrade hadn’t felt like much of a friend when his people turned on Sherlock, planting doubts in his mind. And he’d stupidly let himself be swayed. John had been shocked and angry, feeling betrayed, and for good reason. It was Sherlock’s reaction that had been worse, the calm acceptance as though he’d expected this, Lestrade’s lack of faith in him.

Afterwards, after Sherlock’s—oh God, Lestrade still couldn’t believe it—death, John had torn him a new one, his voice cracking as he relayed what had happened, what Moriarty had done, set in motion, and how Lestrade had helped, how they all had helped. Lestrade had not believed it of Sherlock, having seen the man in action too often to even consider it was staged, but all it took was one seed of doubt for everything to come tumbling down around them.

It might have destroyed their relationship if not for the fact that it was easier to be together in grief than alone in grief. They both carried guilt, but they talked sense into each other, not letting the other get lost in it, the grief, the betrayal. And eventually they moved on, been stronger for it, brought closer together by, made new friends, and new happy memories.

Despite the years that had passed since the last time it happened, neither man noticed the third body that settled on the bed. 

Not until morning at least.


End file.
